


Symptomatic of a slight infatuation

by winterysomnium



Category: DCU
Genre: Gen, M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterysomnium/pseuds/winterysomnium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was in this post noon, slumbery hour, Steph softly singing along to a song on the radio and Cass washing a tea stained cup, when they thought up a simple, yet entertaining, fairly innocent game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symptomatic of a slight infatuation

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a coffee shop AU that’s a bit original or at least different from what is usually written for them, not because I don’t like that style (it’s awesome and I love coffee shop AUs), it’s mostly because I was worried about making it good and fun and interesting. With some help from varevare which I am very thankful for, I managed to come up with this idea. It’s not as original or super cool, but I haven’t seen it used that much so … hope you will like this! Title is a lyric for the song “Is it wrong?” by Lana del Rey.

The day steadily melts into the slower, dragged out eights of days of their shift, rush hour five to ten hungry students as rushed as the hour itself, leaving them reading a textbook under the counter or rearranging the cups on the shelves, trying out those fancy foam patterns Steph is a natural at and which Cass hasn’t quite mastered yet, even if she keeps telling Steph that abstract patterns are as much an art form as her cartoons (and Cass’s grumpy face Steph tends to paint when she wants to cheer her up), or they nibble on the miniature butter cookies they hand out to cappuccino’s and latte’s, quiet and restless.

It was in this post noon, slumbery hour, Steph softly singing along to a song on the radio and Cass washing a tea stained cup, when they thought up a simple, yet entertaining, fairly innocent game.

They solemnly dubbed it “the matchmaker games”, one of them carefully picking out two people, while the other tries to succeed in (at least) making them shyly (or boldly) exchange phone numbers, in the time until one of the potential halves of the couple leaves.

It’s also between Steph saying: “I think I’ll go to the bathroom real quick. Cramps are _killing_ me.” and a medicine major Cass gives an extra napkin to and never forgets to point out their newest cakes and coffee syrups he always asks about, it’s when the door is being hold open for him by another student in a comfortably looking hoodie students tend to wear close to finals week, it’s then that Cass knows exactly how she can help take Steph’s mind off of the annoyingly strong stomach aches.

They both sit a few tables away from each other, lose each other’s space in two smiles, one of them smaller and warm, the other nearly a shy smirk, and when Steph walks back with a huff, raising the strand of hair — short and soft enough to slip past any hairpin — from her forehead, Cass presses the menus to her palms.

“It’s on?” she asks, moving her head, Steph imitating the angle until the boys catch her attention and she raises an eyebrow, curiosity flowing through the crinkle of her mouth and the shape of her eyes.

“Are your kick ass senses tingling?”she asks, to which Cass raises a _what do_ you _think?_ eyebrow back, something she learned from Stephanie herself and Steph forms a vague plan of action in her head, puts on a cheerful smile and confirms, with determination rising through her chest.

“It’s on.”

—-

She approaches the boy that hasn’t put an eight hundred page book on the side of the table — along with a sharpie and some slightly crumpled papers — _already_ and looks at him sheepishly, clasping her hands around the menus, and it takes him a second to realize she’s not putting them down, isn’t moving any further.

“I’m really sorry, but I have to ask you to change your seat,” she says, looking as apologetic as she can, noticing that the studious one glanced their way and lingered for a moment more on the other boy’s profile, the boy in front of her stuck between frantically gathering his things and calm confusion, not managing either.

“Is this table reserved?”

“I’m afraid it is. We’re expecting some company from the environmental meeting in about half an hour. They just called it in, too, so we weren’t able to put the signs on the tables yet, sorry. All of the seats to your left are free though,” she waves her hand around in a wide angled gesture and the boy somewhat brokenly stands up, in parts, slowly first and then fast, takes his bag and with an apology formed into a smile quickly says: “Alright, sorry for the trouble.” and sits two tables closer to the medicine major who started scribbling something onto his papers in the mean time, frowning at something on the bottom of the page.

“I’m the one who should apologize. How about a cookie on the house?” Steph hands the boy the menu and glances at the tag that’s attached to his lab coat, the skin of a scientist thrown over his jacket — the skin of someone whose details resurface if you watch them for a second longer, his fingers soundlessly tapping a tune on the menu and his hair cut so it doesn’t get in the way of any chemicals (or maybe he simply likes the combination of both longer and shorter hair), a vague, thin, curved line pressed into his temples from the goggles she knows they wear down in the labs, a tattoo of his future or maybe a sign of dedication — and she smirks as she takes a note of his name.

(Tim.)

Tim seems a bit out of tune with random, unsuspected kindness, raises one of his hands along with his face and moves it in a gesture dipped in defensiveness, smiles at her and the tips of his ears soften to a sunburned, pale colour, darkening his nearly see through freckles. “No no, it’s alright; you don’t have to do anything like that. I just had to move my butt from over there to over here so, no big deal,” he mumbles out, quickly yet not unsure, keeps the smile and keeps looking at her, continuing in his subtle downtown accent.

“Though, can I order right away?” he asks and Steph answers with a nod, says: “Yes, sure! What can I get you?” while she takes out the pad and her pen that she borrowed from her Mom’s office, a reminder of a person she often has to eat dinner without, a person that couldn’t have spent every afternoon with her but who’s still a pillar in the construction of everything Stephanie chose to be, it’s a memory Steph can touch, a piece of the parallel present passing her by, a piece of everything she misses.      

“A double shot cappuccino and a grape Zesti, please,” Tim says and she writes the order down, adds _free cookie included!_ and moves to the other guy, thinks that she remembers his name being _Jason_ (heard it when he was talking to Cass and making her smile which isn’t that easy to do, her lips rarely raising to the bait of jokes; this Jason person _def_ got some plus Steph points already).  He looks up as he hears her shoes skid to a stop in front of his table and as she wonders where or even _how_ to hand him his menu, his table helplessly occupied by the spines of books and sleepy papers, he smiles and gestures towards it, saying: “I don’t really need that.”

Steph breathes out a mix of a smile and a jokeful _phew_ , says — cheerful and excited because they _both_ can feel the small prickle of someone focusing on them, Tim’s eyes darting away from Jason’s table in a second, the tingling falling down their skin in a slow, syrupy act of disappearance — “Alright; what’s it going to be?”

 She addresses Jason and he answers immediately, using his hands as a mean of measurement, crooking his fingers to imitations of ribcages to suggest the shape, the weight of what he wants.

“Could I get some black coffee with a little bit of cream into one of those big, round cups you have?” he asks and as she nods, writing out the details of his order, he continues, asking: “Do you have the homemade cheesecake today?” and she nods again, her smile catching a shade of mischievousness, spreading across her mouth. “We’ll get you the biggest, baddest slice we have,” she says and Jason’s smile grows lighter, curls with quiet laughter and amusement as he answers.

“Awesome. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Steph turns away from the table and as calmly as she can, she reaches the counter and Cass’s waiting fingers, gives her Jason’s order right after she tugs it from the pad, winking at her as she’s passing the note.

“They’re cute.”

“There’s also tension between them. The _attractive_ kind,” Cass answers and they fall into the system of simultaneous preparation of whatever they have written out, after two years so familiar with each other’s patterns they barely think about stepping aside or moving over to the fridge to avoid collision, meeting at the plates they carry the drinks and the occasional cake on, Steph finishing up the wrapping of the cookie, chocolate chip and advice-giving at the same time, the inside of the paper strip carrying special notes they printed out for these situations, a clever and smooth move to make _others_ move, and — Steph thinks it’s a _start_.

When she puts the small, porcelain plate next to Tim’s coffee, he awards it with a “You _really_ got me the cookie.” and a small laugh, and with a hefty wave of inner satisfaction bubbling in her chest, Steph hears him go for the dessert first.

—-

Jason moved his book away sometime after she took his order and she presents the cup of coffee in front of him, asks: “Hope you meant these?” and then puts down the cheesecake just as Jason answers, in a satisfied, low rumble.

“It’s _perfect_.”

She smiles and just a moment before she starts to turn around, he calls out, sheepish and rubbing the back of his neck, stopping himself a second later, a tad embarrassed about what he’s about to ask.

“Say, you don’t by any chance have one of those better calculators? Those that have a few more than the basic functions? I wouldn’t be asking this but I forgot mine and I kinda really need it,” he says and keeping in mind that he can see her — therefore refraining from any visual clues — Steph has to admit: she feels a bit guilty about thinking that it’s absolutely _perfect_.

“Sorry, I’m pretty sure we only have those regular ones. But hey, it seems like the person two tables away takes chemistry classes, he might have a fancy calculator. I’ll go ask for you!” and before he can decide if he wants to protest or encourage her, she walks to Tim’s table, catches him reading the inner side of the paper and then looking up at her, wearing an amused expression. “I do have a _fancy_ calculator, ” he says and opens the zipper of his bag, pulling out a clearly daily used calculator from a smaller pocket, a few stickers on the back of it and a scratch on the top corner, hands it to Steph and she brings it over to Jason, says: “Here you go.” smiling as he takes the calculator and says “Thanks.” aimed at them both, lifting the calculator in an addressing gesture at Tim, adding: “I promise not to break it!” to which Tim laughs a bit and then they both look away, Tim to the paper and his cappuccino, Jason to his own homework, Steph walking back towards the counter, sitting down at one of the stools and even though she opens her own textbook, she barely remembers what she’s reading.

Cass can tell and Steph huffs at her, well meant and she moves to flick Cass’s forehead which she dodges as always, hands Steph a cup of tea instead and as Steph starts to pour a bit of sugar into the cup, she hears a chair move backwards, and with as much subtlety as she can find in her, she turns towards the boys, cupping her tea and sipping at it as Jason walks over to Tim, offering the calculator back to Tim’s palms.

“That was quick,” Tim comments, kind of hiding the paper under his palm and Jason shrugs, sighs a bit as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, movement Tim follows and Steph doesn’t miss, and in that second Jason decides to go for the honest route, answering to Tim’s unsaid question.

“I think I had enough of the mathematical side of my major today. There’s this one problem I can’t for the love of god figure and it’s been driving me _nuts_. So yeah, no use in taking your calculator hostage any longer.” Jason shrugs again and Tim softly laughs, takes the calculator but doesn’t put it back in its pocket, keeps it with his fingers pressed to its edges, stops Jason from leaving.

“I took a good share of math myself, too. Maybe I could help? I’m not that bad with it,” he offers and reluctantly, Jason gets talked into it, Tim moving to his table, taking the Zesti with him as they both huddle over the papers, Jason equally focused on Tim’s mouth as on the sounds that its crafting, nodding along and then forming his own lips to an “oh” that he repeats a few times, picks up where Tim stopped talking while now Tim’s the one nodding along to Jason’s mouth, drinking in sips from his Zesti and when Jason stops writing and with a victorious, relieved move announces success, their conversation shifts, moves to the bands whose stickers Tim put on the back of his calculator, walks through seeing each other in one of their classes but never saying hi and arrives to a warm, short handshake where they manage to exchange names, their palms not letting go for two, five seconds longer, Tim the one who loosens his grip first, trying to find something else to do with his own, pleasantly electrified hands and Steph turns away to Cass, raises an eyebrow at the score board they keep and asks:

“One more point for me?”

Cass ponders about the probabilities of Steph’s victory but does take the chalk and adds one point to Steph’s line, briefly giving Steph a thumbs up with her whitened fingers and then she walks towards the sink, washing her fingertips and wiping them on her apron, glancing over the counter to Jason half-singing _cheesecake calling_ while he’s offering a forkful of the cake to Tim’s amused face, the fork moving around in the space between them along with the subtle hint of _kiss me_ Cass reads on their lips and the curves of their shoulders, Tim finally surrendering to Jason’s smile a moment later. He borrows the fork, briefly connecting with Jason’s own thumb and middle finger, nodding along Jason’s “Epic, right?” as he swallows, returning the fork and when he stands up after another ten minutes of playful chatter, he brings all of his things to Jason’s table, pulls out his phone so he can show something they both laugh about, exchanging embarrassments and gossip about their school, Jason measuring with his palms once again and Tim talking with gestures and creaks of bones, and looking away, Cass smiles a tiny, subtle smile for herself.

—-

At the end of their free hours, Jason pays for Tim’s soda and coffee, Tim doesn’t buy the _it’s the fee for the calculator and smarts borrowing, okay?_ , which Jason knows, and before Tim packs anything, he takes the paper that was wrapped around his cookie and reads it, with an inch of a challenge in his voice, with an inch of _oh, I get it now_.

 “You’ll _be given the opportunity to give your number to someone special today. Don’t blow it!_ ” he reads, looks up at Jason and asks: “Opportunity not blown yet, yes/no?”

and with a laugh, Jason answers.

“Lend me your hand for a sec. Because opportunity? Definitely not blown.”


End file.
